


you caused my heart to bleed (this house no longer feels like home)

by babblekween



Series: faith falls hard on our shoulders (but legends never die) [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bruce Wayne becomes Batman, F/M, Felicity Smoak is Bruce Wayne's sister, Felicity gets a whole new backstory, Felicity had a life before Digg and Oliver, Felicity is a Wayne, Gen, Oliver wasn't Felicity's first vigilante, She's also best friends with Barbara Gordon because reasons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babblekween/pseuds/babblekween
Summary: [AU] Bruce hasn't been the same since he returned home from who-knows-where, and Felicity hates mysteries. They bug her and then need to be solved.//{Bruce Wayne becomes Batman}





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For this installment, we'll be switching back and forth between Felicity and Bruce, and hopefully I'll be able to fix what I broke. Admittedly, it's probably going to get worst before it gets better. But Bruce is a future self-sacrificing vigilante and Felicity's stubborn, so it can't be helped.
> 
> Batten down the hatches, bys, there's gonna be feels.
> 
> **POLYOVRE:[[LOUISA]](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_louisa/set?id=212320335) | [[FELICITY]](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicity_wayne_10/set?id=209698772)**

Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham City on a Thursday.

He walks out of Gotham International Airport with a single duffle bag thrown over his shoulder, much as he had when he briefly returned home for Joe Chill’s parole hearing, but this time there’s no one waiting for him. Alfred, with his pristine suit and glasses on the edge of his nose, is nowhere to be seen and Bruce can’t help the way his heart _clenches_ at his old friend’s absence.

(Not that he expected Alfred to be here, Bruce hasn’t told anyone he’s coming back.

He’d tried to call before he boarded his flight to Gotham, but he hadn’t been able to dial the familiar number, something akin to _guilt_ and _shame_ heavy in his stomach warring with the breathless anticipation he felt when he thought about seeing his family again).

"Holy shit, that's Bruce Wayne—"

Bruce squares his shoulders when he hears the announcement and keeps his head high and his eyes to the front as he continues to make his way towards the waiting taxis, tension seeping into his shoulders as he resists his instinct to _attack_ when the press swarms a little too close. He grits his teeth as they yell question after question at him, demanding to know where he's been these past three years as they flash his picture.

"— Mr. Wayne, it's been three years, where have you been?"

"— Mr. Wayne, have you returned home to take your _rightful_ place at Wayne Enterprises?"

He clenches his jaw and ignores the words the press throw at him. He doesn’t answer when they ask him where he’s been and he doesn’t react to the snide comments about how he’s been neglecting his _duty_ as the Wayne heir, bringing _shame_ to his family’s name because, _obviously,_ he’s spent the past three-years gallivanting around the world blowing his inheritance as a playboy billionaire.

(It's a reputation of his own making, he knows.

And, though it's necessary, he hates the way they throw it in his face).

Instead, Bruce chooses to keep his head high and his eyes front as he climbs into the back of a taxi. “Wayne Manor, please,” He says without prompting when the taxi driver stares at him in silent shock before stuttering out a response.

Bruce leans back against the worn leather seat and he is deaf to the idle chatter the diver’s saying as he stares out the window, his heart shattering in his chest when he notices that the decay has only worsened in the three years he’s been in Nanda Parbat. The sight only strengthens his belief that he was right to return home. He’s the _Prince of Gotham --_ a nickname he’s always loathed -- and Gotham is an ailing ancestor that needs him.

Bruce sits straighter in his seat when the taxi turns onto the long, curved driveway that leads to the looming mansion that is Wayne Manor. It looks the same as it had when he was a small boy, and he remembers how, after the loss of his parents had tilted his world on its axis, it had _infuriated_ him how untouched the mansion was by time. But now? Now he finds comfort in the things that are the same.

His heart pounds in his chest when the taxi slows to a stop, and he hands a wad of cash to the taxi driver with an absent “keep the change” before he climbs out with his lone possession -- the tattered duffle bag that accompanied him to Nanda Parbat -- slung over his shoulder.

He steels himself as he walks up the familiar stone steps that lead to the main entrance to the house, his heart jolting in his chest when he hears the familiar sound of the heavy  door being opened and then shut. Bruce pictures his sister, no longer the little girl he’d left behind but a beautiful young woman, jogging towards him because she missed him as much as he missed her, and an odd sensation, some mixture of happiness and excitement and trepidation, washes over him.

That’s when Alfred -- pristine suit with his glasses on the edge of his nose-- comes into view and, though it’s not Felicity, Bruce still feels his heart flood with affection when he sees his old friend. There are more wrinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes than there had been three years before and, instead of the few grey hairs that once lined his temples, the old butler is almost entirely grey. But it’s still Alfred, strong and gentle Alfred.

Alfred’s face twists, relief and so much anger warring for dominance on his weathered face, but there’s no mistaking the relief that lights his eyes as he walks down the last of the steps towards Bruce. “You’ve been gone a long time, Master _Wayne_ ,” Alfred nods.

(Alfred has always called him Master Bruce, never Master _Wayne_ , and he doesn’t like the use of the title now).

Bruce winces as his expression shifts from one of happiness into one of dread. He has seen both Alfred’s frustration and anger before, often aimed at him in his youth when he had a horrible habit of getting into fights, but nothing like this. Several long moments seem to pass before the old butler can formulate a sentence.

He swallows and says, “Alfred…”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Alfred bites out, voice filled with warning as tears shine in his eyes. “There is nothing you can say to me right now that will _not_ make me want to box your ears, you selfish, _selfish_ boy. You _do not_ storm out in the middle of the night; you _do not_ run where your family cannot find you,” Alfred snarls at him, as close to shouting as he’s ever been. “And you _do not_ allow three years to pass without contact.”

Bruce blinks, his eyes burning, chastened.

Alfred stares at him, still panting with anger. “Your actions are inexcusable, Master Bruce.”

Bruce wets his lips and says, "I know."

Alfred’s weathered face crumples with emotion. “Oh, my boy,” He says, his voice shaky with emotion. “Welcome home, Master Bruce,” Alfred continues as he moves in for an embrace, his righteous fury replaced with fierce affection as he wraps his arms around Bruce as if he were still a small boy instead of a young man of twenty-five. “ _Welcome home_.”

 

* * *

 

Bruce hesitates outside the kitchen, listening to Louisa putter around.

He’s always had fond memories of Louisa’s kitchen. He remembers the afternoons he spent kneeling on a stool by her side as she kneaded dough and baked (Louisa _loves_ to bake and thus the counter is always lined with baked bread and fresh muffins and more cookies than even his sister, who has the biggest sweet tooth ever, can eat) while singing show tunes under her breath. He remembers the way she’d roll her eyes when he tried to sneak a taste the moment her back was turned. And Bruce remembers the way she would smile, fond and indulgent, as she slid the bowl towards him and said _just this once, Tesoro._

Even after the death of Thomas and Martha, Bruce continued to spend most of his afternoons in the kitchen with Louisa. If he wasn’t with Felicity, he was in the kitchen. He no longer tried to sneak a taste of whatever dessert Louisa was making and he no longer hummed along under his breath with whichever show tune Louisa has stuck in her head that particular day, but he could always be found on his usual stool, elbows resting on the island as he allowed the familiar, comforting sound of Louisa’s voice surround him.

He’s always loved the kitchen and the way it bustled with noise and life.

Whether it was the sound of Louisa singing show tunes, the ticking of the stove, or the whistle of the kettle, there was _always_ nose in the kitchen.

Bruce steels himself and pushes his way into the kitchen, his heart so full it could burst when the familiar sound of Louisa’s comforting voice washes over as she sings [I’ve Got a Crush on You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igeKhTX5R6k). “ _How glad the many millions of toms and dicks and Williams would be, to capture me_ ,” [Louisa](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_louisa/set?id=212320335) sings as she puts the finishing touch on her Bruttiboni.

(From the smell, she’s made hazelnut-flavored biscuits this time, and Bruce’s mouth waters because he’s always preferred the hazelnut over almond).

“ _But you had such persistence,”_ Louisa continues, “ _You wore down my resistance.”_

She’s as beautiful as ever, even with the wrinkles that line her eyes and wine-colored mouth, even with the grey sprinkled through her dark locks, and Bruce’s mouth is opening before he realizes, singing, “ _I fell and it was swell.”_

Louisa gasps and turns around, her eyes widening when she notices Bruce.

For the first time in his memory, silence engulfs the kitchen.

Bruce steels himself for her frustration and tears and righteous fury, saying, “I know I should have—“

His words are cut off when Louisa marches across the kitchen, wrapping her arms around him, squeezing as tight as she possibly can, heedless of the flour she’s covered in. “Oh, my darling boy,” Louisa blubbers and Bruce exhales in relief, snuggling closer and tucking his nose into the softness of her cashmere cardigan as she stretches on her toes, threading her fingers through his hair. “Oh, _Tesoro_ , you’re _home_.”

Bruce’s heart feels so full it could burst and he can’t help the way his mouth curves into a wide smile when he says, “Yeah, I’m home.” Louisa’s laughter is hoarse and thick with emotion, and then she’s shrieking as he scoops her up and spins her around, smile widening when she threatens to _smack his bottom with her wooden spoon_ as if he were still a small boy and she’d just caught him trying to sneak a taste of dessert.

“Bruce Wayne,” Louisa scolds, but her warm brown eyes sparkle. “Put me _down_.”

Bruce sets her down with a roll of his eyes, but he’s grinning warmly because _this_ greeting is almost too much for his heart to stand in the face of Alfred’s frustration and righteous fury. It’s more than he dared to hope for when he hesitated outside Louisa’s kitchen, afraid of the reception he would receive.

Louisa draws back enough to peer up at Bruce, and reaches up to cup his face. “Let me look at you,” She says and, even with the tears in her eyes, it’s an order, not a request. “Have you been looking after yourself, _Tesoro_?”

Bruce huffs, amused. " _Yes_ , Louisa.”

Her brow eyes narrow suddenly and she reaches out to clip him on the ear. “You did not tell us you would be returning home,” Louisa huffs at Bruce, crossing her arms, brows furrowed in the middle of her forehead. “Now your room is not made up, and I have no supper prepared, _I’m a mess—“_

“You look _beautiful_ ,” Bruce objects.

“What sort of welcome home is this?” Louisa continues as if he hasn’t spoken, moving to putter around the kitchen once more as she cleans a spot on the counter so she can cook. “I am going to make you something special to eat. What would you like? Anything? Is spaghetti still your favorite?” She waves a hand at him dismissively when he opens his mouth to answer, brushing a tear from her cheek, “It doesn’t matter. I will just cook everything we’ve got, okay, _Tesoro_?”

“Whatever you want, Louisa,” Bruce answers as he slides onto a stool, resting his arms on the island and reaching over to sneak one of the still-warm biscuits while Louisa putters around the kitchen to collect the ingredients for spaghetti (she’s right, after all, it is his favorite) and pops it into his mouth when she begins to sing [Nat King Cole’s L-O-V-E](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JErVP6xLZwg).

“… _love is all that I can give to you.”_

 

* * *

 

When Bruce leaves the kitchen, both his heart and stomach full, he leaves Louisa with a kiss on the cheek as he goes to inspect the rest of the house.

Unlike the kitchen, the rest of Wayne Manor is quiet.

It doesn’t surprise Bruce, not really because an air of silence has hung over the mansion for years now. Ever since the loss of Thomas and Martha, the mansion has felt more like a mausoleum than a home because it is nothing more than marble and stone without the people that once made it what it was. But now the house seems quieter than ever, lacking the life and warmth that used to fill the mansion.

Dust-cloths cover most the furniture and none of the rooms look lived in.

The mansion now truly feels like the mausoleum Bruce always accused it of being.

It lacks the light his little sister used to emit.

Bruce hesitates outside his sister’s room the same way he hesitated outside the kitchen, and he feels his heart constrict when he notices that the yellow sign (the one he made, the one that was decorated with bright flowers that reminded him of his mother’s gardens and glitter letters that spelled out _Felicity_ ) has been taken down.

It’s an invasion of privacy, he knows, but Louisa and Alfred have both said that Felicity will not be home tonight (he’s asked them numerous times where she is, but each time they tell him that she is safe and that he needs to be patient, that he can’t _push_ , that Felicity will return home when _she’s_ ready and not a moment sooner) and hesitates only a moment before he gives her bedroom door a nudge and watches as it slowly swings inward to reveal the interior.

Bruce squares his shoulders and forces himself to step inside.

The same bookshelves flank the same large window that overlooks the gardens his mother once took so much pride in. He reads the familiar titles ( _The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Princess Bride)_ and a few new ones as well ( _Harry Potter, Eragon, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy)_ as he runs his finger along the spines. A massive, four-poster king-sized bed has replaced the twin-bed he remembers tucking his sister into each night before he read her to sleep. On the other side of the bedroom Felicity’s desk is what can only be described as organized chaos, covered in papers and various computer parts and make-up.

It’s the room of a young woman, not the little girl he left behind, but what really strikes him is the _color_ , or the lack thereof.

Gone are the bright pinks and sunshine yellows, replaced with blacks and greys and dark blues and darker purples.

Gone are the brochures from Felicity’s ballet recitals that once hung on the cork board above her desk.

Gone are the ribbons from her various gymnastic competitions over the years.

Bruce scrubs his hand against the back of his neck as he sinks down on the edge of Felicity’s bed, and he can’t help but wonder when his little sister stopped caring about ballet and gymnastics? When did she trade in the bright and happy colors with blacks and purples and dark, dreary colors that seem so unlike Felicity? What else _has he missed_?

Bruce is still sitting on the edge of the bed, the stuffed-panda he won his little sister at Amusement Mile held firmly in his hands when Alfred finds him twenty-minutes later. “I wondered where you had wandered off to,” Alfred muses as he sinks down into the desk chair, turning it so he's facing Bruce, but there is a relieved note to his voice and they both know he really means is  _I was afraid you had left without saying goodbye_. _Again_.

Bruce doesn’t acknowledge the trace of fear he hears in his old friend’s voice because he knows that only time will be able to reassure Alfred, and Louisa and Felicity, that he intends to stay in Gotham. “I’ve missed out on so much, haven’t I?” He asks instead, and his gaze sweeps over to the 1st place state championship medal that's hung on the cork board of the desk (it's for math, apparently, and he's fiercely proud of his sister for joining the mathletes) before he returns his gaze to Alfred.

Alfred’s mouth tightens before he nods. “You have, Master Bruce,” He admits and his honest words are like barbed wire wrapping around Bruce’s heart because he _never_ wanted to miss out on Felicity’s life, but at the same time he had needed the means to _protect_ her because his sister is the one thing he can’t live without. “But you can start anew. You can be there for her _now_ ,” Alfred adds, and then he asks the question that’s been on his mind since Bruce first pulled up to the house. “Have you come back to Gotham for long, sir?”

“As long as it takes,” Bruce answers before he returns the stuffed-panda to its place on the king-sized bed, and then he decides it’s time he finally tells _someone_ of the plans he has for Gotham because he knows Alfred will understand. “I want to show the people that their city doesn’t belong to the criminal and the corrupt.”

Alfred watches him in silence, and he must hear _something_ in Bruce’s voice because he simply nods in understanding because this is not the first time he's heard a Wayne decide it's his duty to save Gotham City. “In the depression, your father nearly bankrupted Wayne Enterprises combating poverty in Gotham. He believed his example could inspire the wealthy of Gotham to save their city.”

Bruce frowns, brows furrowed. “Did it?”

“In a way.” He purses his mouth, eyes sweeping over his young charge. “Their murder shocked the wealthy and the powerful into action.”

Bruce frowns down at Alfred as he climbs his feet, and then he walks over to the window to stare down at the barren gardens that were once filled with flowers of every color. “The people of this city need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy, Alfred, but I cannot do that as Bruce Wayne,” He insists, giving voice to the truth he’s known since he was a small boy. “As a man, I’m flesh and blood. I can be ignored, I can be destroyed, but as a _symbol_ … as a symbol I can be incorruptible. I can be everlasting. I can be the protector Gotham _needs_ me to be.”

“And what symbol will that be, Master Bruce?”

“Something _terrifying_.” Bruce answers, turning around to face Alfred, and his frown deepens when he sees the expression on the butler’s face. “I’m not crazy, Alfred. You once told me that I might not want the weight of the Wayne legacy, but _this_ is what I want my legacy to stand for. I want to rid the streets of Gotham of the crime and the _evil_ that killed my parents, and I know, _in my heart_ , that this is right.”

Alfred’s face creases in concern but he doesn’t try to dissuade Bruce of his chosen path, which is more than Bruce had dared hope for because he _knows_ he cannot do this alone. “Well then, I assume that as you take on the criminal underworld, this symbol is meant to be a persona to protect those you care about from reprisals?”

 _Reprisals_ is too civil of a word for the horror that would befall his family if people were to figure out his identity, but Bruce doesn’t give voice to those horrors because he will _never_ let that come to pass. “I assuming you’re thinking about yourself, old friend?” Bruce asks, mouth curved into a smirk.

Alfred’s face is void of humor. “Actually, sir, I was thinking of Felicity.”

_Felicity’s brow furrows, her mouth curved into a frown as she looks down at the hole in her stomach, blood coating her fingers and soaking her bubble-gum pink pea coat until the fabric looks nearly black._

_Bruce feels his heart break, an open fault line, and the noise that leaves his mouth is somewhere between terror and madness as it echoes in the alley and drowns out the sound of escaping footsteps._ _She starts to fall, her knees giving out, and Bruce races to catch her, sliding to the ground as he cradles her in his arms as tight as he dares, begging her not to leave him too as she struggles to breathe, gasping and choking and so pale in his arms._

 _“Felicity, Fee, Fee, c’mon. I got you, I got you, just please stay,_ _please_ _.” Bruce begs because the whole front of her jacket is soaked red and she’s his_ _little sister_ _and he_ _promised_ _his parents he would look after her because that’s his job. “I’m going to take care of you, I promised I would take of you, but you need to stay with me, buttercup. Felicity,” he cries because she’s not responding and he barely notices the tears carving paths down his cheeks as he tightens his hold on her, “no, no, oh god no,_ _Fee._ _”_

_Bruce screams._

Bruce flinches as the nightmare from long ago resurfaces in his mind, but it only strengthens his resolve that his little sister can never know how he intends to spend his nights or his plans for Gotham. "We will protect her, Alfred, _I_ will protect her," Bruce vows because this has _always_ been about protecting Felicity because he can't lose his sister the way he lost his parents. "She'll never know my secret," He swears.

 

* * *

 

“And where do you think you’re going, young miss?”

Bruce slows to a stop on his way to the kitchen (Louisa promised the night before that she’d prepare all of his favorites for supper the next day, giving him the _proper_ homecoming she would have prepared if he’d had the _decency_ to let them know he was returning home) and winces when he realizes Alfred’s unhappy Loud Voice is coming from his sister’s room. It’s a tone that he knows well, but this is the first time he can ever remember Alfred’s ire being aimed at _Felicity_.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Felicity demands, her voice just as annoyed and angry as she fires back with her own rendition of the Loud Voice. “I’m spending the weekend at Barbara’s."

Bruce leans his shoulder against the wall, his mouth curving into a frown because _she’s leaving_.

Alfred sighs. “I agreed to you staying at Miss Gordon’s last night because I understood that your brother returning home was a shock, young miss, but I agreed to one night and one night only.”

“What are you going to do, Alfred? Lock me in my room, _ground_ me?” Felicity snarls.

Bruce blinks, then blinks again, when he hears his sister’s tone because she’s _never_ been disrespectful.

“In case it’s escaped your notice, you’re my _butler_ , not my _father_ ,” Felicity continues, the words practically exploding out of her even though they’re the biggest lie she’s ever told because Alfred and Louisa are the only parents she’s ever known aside from Jim and Sarah Gordon. “And _he_ is _not_ my brother.”

Silence ticks by for several seconds before Alfred says, “You don’t mean that, young miss.”

“Yes, I do, Alfred. _He_ is not my brother, okay?” She shouts and her words echo in Bruce’s ears, his heart clenching like tiny, barbed knives are stabbing it before her next words move in for the kill. “My brother read _The Princess Bride_ to me every night before bed, and he took me out to the movies or for ice-cream or whatever else I wanted on Fridays, and he sat with me and listened to me babble while I built my first computer. My brother would never have left in the middle of the night, and he sure as hell wouldn’t show up after _three years_ without so much as a damned phone call.”

More silence.

Bruce stares at the door as if the effort alone will allow him to see through it.

"What?" Felicity demands, frustration lacing her voice.

Floorboards creak and Bruce can practically see Alfred walking across the room to cup Felicity cheeks, expression soft and loving in the face of her ire. “You are entitled to how you feel, young miss. It’s okay to feel angry and hurt and whatever else it is that you feel. It’s okay to be angry at your brother for leaving the way he did. It’s even okay to be mad at your brother for _coming home_ the way he did. But he _is_ your brother,” Alfred insists, rubbing his knuckles down her cheek before he tucks his hand under her chin, lifting it a little higher. “He loves you just as much as you love him, Miss Felicity. He’s your _family_.”

“Why do you give a damn, Alfred?” Felicity asks, “It's not _your_ family.”

“I give a damn, young miss, because two people I admired greatly once made me responsible for what was most precious to them in the whole world.” Silence follows Alfred’s words, but then he’s sighing, calling, “Felicity, wait!”

Bruce pushes away from the wall, knowing he’s about to be busted and moves to stand in front of Felicity’s door. He reaches for the doorknob but, before he can touch it, Felicity yanks it open from the other side and Bruce doesn’t have to fake his surprise when he blinks at his sister’s appearance.

If he thought the change to her bedroom was drastic, it’s nothing compared to seeing his sister for the first time in three years.

[Felicity](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicity_wayne_10/set?id=209698772)’s wild brown curls have been replaced with straightened hair with purple high lights. Her nose is pierced, and her blue eyes that are _so_ like their mother’s are lined with thick black eyeliner and her lips are painted a deep, vibrant purple. Her nails that were always painted a bright, vibrant pink or blue or yellow that matched the day’s outfit has been replaced with blood red, and she’s traded in her round bottle-shaped glasses for contacts.

Her outfit makes her look harsh and hard in a way he never thought he’d associate with Felicity. But gone are the soft sweaters and the embroidered jeans and the pink Chucks, and in their place is [a black leather jacket, matching black combat boots, and a destroyed pair of khaki jeans.](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=209698772)

His little sister has grown up while he was gone.

Felicity’s face is cold indifference when she runs her gaze over him. “Bruce,” She greets, voice cold.

Bruce wets his lips and offers her a small smile, knowing he has to be the one to make the first move because Felicity’s utilizing that famous Wayne Stubbornness she once used when she vowed to never talk to him again, ever. “Hey, Fee.” Emotion clogs his throat, turning his voice to sandpaper as he says, “I’ve missed you. So how about we go out for ice-cream or, or maybe to the movies now that you're home. It's Felicity Friday, after all. Whatever you want to do, I’m all yours.”

Felicity makes a face. “Yeah?” She snarls, eyes blazing, “For how long _this time_?”

Bruce blinks and then opens his mouth to answer, but Felicity’s already brushing past him, duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

**TBC.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2! No promises on how quickly the next chapter will be finished, or how quickly I'll be able to respond to any comments, because my finals start on Friday. Technically I shouldn't have dedicated most of my Monday to finishing this chapter, but I just didn't want to study for issues because it's stupid and I hate it and I'm really, really happy this is my last academic semester. Enjoy the chapters, my lovelies !
> 
> **POLYVORE:** Felicity [[1]](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicity_wayne_10/set?id=209698772) [[2]](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=209583373) [[3]](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicity_wayne_12/set?id=195647704) [[4]](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=212691966) [[5]](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicty_wayne_14/set?id=212036063) [[6]](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicity_wayne_13/set?id=195644708) | Barbara [[1]](http://www.polyvore.com/barbara_gordon/set?id=195647869) [[2]](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_barbara_gordon/set?id=195647897) [[3]](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=195898893) [[4]](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=195898301) [[5]](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=212681394) |Sarah Essen-Gordon [[1]](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_sarah_essen-gordon/set?id=212682704)

[Felicity](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicity_wayne_10/set?id=209698772) feels a little like a bad ass and a little like she's about to knock over a liquor store when she instructs Barbara to keep the car running, but then she's sneaking around the back of the mansion to the kitchen door where Louisa has the groceries delivered. Louisa's nowhere to be seen when she slinks in, but there's something ticking away in the oven and there's something boiling on the stove, which all means Louisa hasn't gone far.

She hesitates when she sees the red velvet cake on the counter, waiting to be decorated. Her mouth practically _waters_.

But then she remembers the red velvet cake they once made Bruce, and she remembers Bruce announcing he was _leaving Gotham_ before they even made it to dessert.

Felicity flattens her expression (she's hardened her heart against giving a damn about Bruce, he didn't miss her so she didn't miss him and she's not about to open herself up to more pain by letting him back in because _he's back_ ) at the reminder and moves to make her way up the servants' stairs. She pauses to listen when she reaches the hidden passageway behind the wall on the third floor, but she doesn't hear anything, doesn't hear _anyone_ , and a bitter part of her wonders if Bruce has already left Gotham City, _again_ , as she darts across the hallway to her bedroom.

She quietly closes the door behind her because _stealth_ instead of slamming the door against the injustice of the cruel, cruel world like she’s taken to doing over the past few years. She rummages through her dressers for jeans and shirts and everything else that she’ll need for her extended stay at the Gordon’s apartment, and then she’s walking into her walk-in-closet to retrieve her favorite forest green cardigan that never fails to make her feel warm and safe when, really, she feels small and insecure.

(She doesn’t let people see that side of her often, hates for people to see her vulnerable.

Jim Gordon shakes his head says that’s how he always sees her, even with scowl and purple lipstick firmly in place, and the police sergeant insists that it’s what makes Felicity _beautiful._ Sometimes Felicity really, really wishes she had been fortunate enough to be born a _Gordon_ instead of a _Wayne_ ).

“Where do you think you’re going, young miss?”

Felicity pauses at the sound of Alfred’s unhappy Loud Voice when she walks out of her closet, but she doesn’t bother to acknowledge his presence with a look because he damn well knows where she’s going. She’s had this conversation with him at least three times now since she first called him the night before to let him know she was staying at Barbara’s.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Felicity demands in her own version of the Loud Voice as she walks over to the dufflebag she has on her king-sized bed, angrily shoving her cardigan into the bag. “I’m spending the weekend at Barbara’s.”

Alfred sighs. “I agreed to you staying at Miss Gordon’s last night because I understood that your brother returning home was a shock, young miss,” Alfred tells her, rubbing a hand over his face. “But I agreed to one night and one night only.”

“What are you going to do, Alfred? Lock me in my room, _ground_ me?” Felicity snarls, her purple-painted mouth curved into a sneer. “In case it’s escaped your notice, you’re my _butler_ , not my _father_ ,” she continues, the words spilling out of her, vicious and hateful and so _goddamn untrue_ that she’s not even sure where they come from but in this moment, she doesn’t care, _refuses_ to care. “And _he_ is _not_ my _brother_.”

Silence ticks by for several seconds before Alfred says, “You don’t mean that, young miss.”

“Yes, I do, Alfred. _He_ is not my brother, okay? My brother read _The Princess Bride_ to me every night before bed, and he took me out to the movies or for ice-cream or whatever else I wanted on Fridays,” her voice goes quiet but no less angry, “And he sat with me and listened to me babble while I built my first computer. My brother would never have left in the middle of the night, and he sure as hell wouldn’t show up after _three years_ without so much as a damned phone call.”

More silence.

"What?" Felicity demands, frustration lacing her voice.

Alfred looks so incredibly sad as if she just broke his heart, and then he’s walking across the room to cup her cheeks, his expression as soft and loving as always even in the face of her ire. “You are entitled to how you feel, young miss. It’s okay to feel angry and hurt and whatever else it is that you feel. It’s okay to be angry at your brother for leaving the way he did. It’s even okay to be mad at your brother for _coming home_ the way he did. But he _is_ your brother,” Alfred insists, rubbing his knuckles down her cheek before he tucks his hand under her chin, lifting it a little higher. “He loves you just as much as you love him, Miss Felicity. He’s your _family_.”

“Why do you give a damn, Alfred?” Felicity asks, half feral and all teeth, “It's not _your_ family.”

Alfred doesn’t even blink, and then he says, “I give a damn, miss, because two people I admired greatly once made me responsible for what was most precious to them in the whole world.”

Cut to the quick, Felicity stares up at Alfred, and to her horror she feels the wet shine of tears begin to form. She blinks once, hard, and forces them down because she refuses to be vulnerable and because she’s hardened her heart against giving a damn.

But, the truth is, Felicity wants to cry; wants to scream; wants to be small and vulnerable and unnoticed in a way she hasn’t allowed herself to be since Louisa told her nobody can make her feel inferior without her consent. Felicity wants to find a dark corner somewhere and curl up in the fetal position until the Gordons come find her, wrapping her in their arms until they take her back to their apartment that feels like safety and love and _home_.

Felicity wants to _run_.

Alfred notices, even before she yanks her chin out of his hold, then he’s sighing, calling, “Felicity, wait!”

Felicity ignores him and yanks her door open, only for her eyes to widen when she comes face to face with Bruce. He looks much the same as he had three years ago, maybe a little broader in the shoulders, a little more bulky, but he’s still Bruce.

Judging by the way his eyes have widened, he doesn’t think the same about her.

But he can’t come back after _three years_ and cast aspersions at the armor she built herself.

He’s the reason she needed that armor in the first place, after all, and her expression morphs into cold indifference when she gives him a blatant once over even as the rest of the world seems to fade away around them. “Bruce,” She greets, voice cold. 

Bruce wets his lips and offers her a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes because her cold greeting _hurt him_ , and there’s a vicious surge of satisfaction with the realization because he’s hurt her too. Her heart shattered when he left Gotham, when he walked away from her, but now she’s stuck back, she’s lashed out and cut him deep.

“Hey, Fee.” Emotion clogs his throat, turning his voice to sandpaper as he says, “I’ve missed you.”

She can taste her bitterness and hurt blossoming to life inside her chest and she wants to shout, wants to deny his words, because they aren’t true. Bruce didn’t miss her, so she didn’t miss him.

“So how about we go out for ice-cream or, or maybe to the movies now that you're home?” Bruce suggests, his mouth quirking into a small, tentative smile. “It's Felicity Friday, after all. Whatever you want to do, I’m all yours.”

Felicity makes a face. “Yeah?” She snarls, eyes blazing, “For how long _this time_?”

Bruce blinks in surprise in the face of her anger, and then he opens his mouth to answer, but she’s already brushing past him with her dufflebag slung over her shoulder, Alfred hot on her heels as he demands. Demands that she stops, demands that she _listen_ to him, demands that she _stop and talk to them_.

Louisa’s concerned tones mix with Alfred’s, and suddenly Bruce is there too, following her and asking her to just stop and talk to them because they’re a family. It’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard in the history of _ever_ and Felicity snorts as she throws the front door open and rushes to where Barbara’s waiting in the car she borrowed from her Aunt Sarah.

“Felicity,” Bruce says.

_Come back_ , he doesn’t say.

It has a heartbreaking symmetry to the night he left her.

It makes that feral, vicious voice in the back of her mind flare to life once more and she throws her dufflebag into the backseat before she climbs into the passenger seat beside her best friend. Bruce stares at her through the window, brow furrowed, mouth curved into a frown. He looks so sad, but that vicious voice smirks, sated, because _good._ She _wants_ to hurt him. She _wants_ him to feel the pain of watching his family driving away, leaving him behind.

[Barbara](http://www.polyvore.com/barbara_gordon/set?id=195647869) furrows her brow, hand hesitating over the gearshift. “Felicity?” She asks.

Felicity doesn’t even hesitate when she says, “Drive. Get me out of here now, _please_ , Babs.”

 

* * *

 

Felicity’s almost able to pretend that her entire world hasn’t been tilted on its axis once she gets to the familiar apartment. She breezes through the door with Barbara, leaving her dufflebag by the door before they move to the kitchen to retrieve the mint-chip the Gordons keep in the freezer especially for her because it’s her go-to comfort food. If there was ever a day she needed mint-chip, today is that day. She’ll probably have to process her way through an entire _pint_ of mint-chip before she feels like herself again.

There’s a note on the fridge from Jim --

_We both got called into work. There’s money on the counter._

_Love,_

_Jim_

Barbara tears the note off the fridge as she reads it, then tosses it in the garbage before she leans across the counter to steal a scoop of mint-chip. “Come on, Fee, let’s call for pizza.” She says, her fingers curling around Felicity’s wrist in a comforting gesture before dragging her friend over to the worn, lumpy beige couch. “We’re having a girls’ night -- don’t give me that look, I’m not going to braid your hair and force you to gush about Eddie, not that there’s anything to gush about because _glaciers move faster than you two_ \-- and we’re going to paint our nails while we watch romantic comedies and eat pizza and other unhealthy junk.”

Felicity curls up on the couch and glumly clings to one of the fluffy burgundy decorative pillows Sarah bought the last time she decided to redecorate the living room, sighing intermittently while Barbara goes to call for pizza and gather all the ‘necessities’ for girls’ night.

“Pizza will be here in half an hour,” Barbara announces when she walks back into the room, and then her mouth curves into a small smile as she holds up a bag filled with various bottles of nail polish along with clippers and a nail file. Clearly, she’s been planning this for a while. “In the mean time, I have _Teal the Cows Come Home_ and _Worth a Pretty Penne_ with your name on it. Whichever color you want. I’m flexible,” She shrugs and places the bottles on the table.

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Felicity muses, picking up a bottle of _Black Onyx_ and rolling it between her palms.

She huffs. “It’s not necessary for your nails to match your black, black heart you know,” Barbara teases but there’s strain there too, strain that hadn’t been there prior to Bruce’s return, and Felicity knows her best friend is bursting with questions because even after all this time they still haven’t talked about Bruce. 

“Maybe,” Felicity nods, lips pursed, “Or maybe choosing to _not_ paint my nails black will lead to a massive implosion that will tear a hole in the space-time continuum and destroy humanity as we know it.” Her face is completely deadpan, but there’s a smirk tugging at her mouth when Barbara rolls her eyes as she reaches out for one of Felicity’s hands, examining it for a moment before she goes about removing the two-day old red nail polish.

Barbara works in silence and then, when she’s ready, she uncaps the black nail polish and starts to paint the brunette’s nails. She is precise in each stroke of the brush as she paints Felicity’s nails, careful not to get it on her skin. “If you want to talk, I’m here.”

Felicity tilts her head to the side, lips pursed. “Pretty sure discussing my family drama breaks some kind of girls’ night rule.”

“Shut up,” Barbara snorts, and then she stares at Felicity meaningfully. “We’ve never talked about it because you never brought it up, and because I didn’t want to pry, because you’ve never pried about _my_ family,” she’s talking about her alcoholic father and the accident that killed both her parents, Felicity knows. “But, if you _do_ want to talk about Bruce, I’m here to listen. Always.”

Felicity shrugs a shoulder, careful not to shift the hand Barbara’s working on. “There’s nothing to talk about,” She lies, and then backtracks when she sees her best friend’s stink eye. “Nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow,” Felicity sighs, and then she reaches out to nudge Barbara with her toe, “C’mon, this is the first time you’ve been able to get me to participate in girls’ night -- and thanks for waiting until I’m sad and vulnerable, buddy -- do you really want to waste it waiting on Bruce?”

Barbara’s shoulders slump a little as she drops her gaze to Felicity’s hand. “Fine, fine, I’ve never pried and I’m not going to start now. But don’t think we won’t be talking about this tomorrow because _we will_ ,” then a small playful smirk tugs at her lips, “On the topic of boys, though, how is Eddie? You went to his basketball game last Friday, didn’t you?”

Felicity opens her mouth to remind her best friend that she _promised_ she wouldn’t force her to ‘gush’ about Eddie (nothing’s happened between them, not yet, he’s still her first friend and she still has butterflies when she’s with him but it’s like they’re on the edge of a praecipe and both of them are afraid to take that next leap) when the buzzer saves her from having to say anything, letting them know the delivery boy is here. “I’ll get it,” Felicity blurts, climbing to her feet.

“No,” Barbara scolds, “You sit your ass down and don’t touch anything. Those nails are perfect.”

Felicity smothers a smile as she watches the redhead move to buzz the delivery boy up, and for the gazillionth time she’s thankful for whatever forces brought Barbara Gordon into her life.

 

* * *

 

On Saturday, Felicity wakes up to the familiar smell of scrambled eggs and waffles and fresh, strong coffee. It’s been tradition since before she started spending time at the apartment and emotion clogs her throat as she stretches under the flannel sheets and strains her ears, listening to the familiar sound of Sarah and Jim’s laughter, and then Barbara grunts from where she’s sprawled on the bed beside Felicity, whining, “Fee, go yell at them for making noise. I’m pretty sure I have the sugar equivalent of a hangover.”

Felicity huffs a laugh and smacks Barbara’s ass as she climbs at out of bed, “The sun is up and everything, Babs, what more do you want?” She asks, eyes widening when she sees the bird’s nest her hair has turned into, flicking a hair elastic off her wrist before she throws her hair up into a messy bun.

“To _sleep_ ,” Barbara grumbles as she forces herself to sit up, squinting her eyes against the sunshine that floats in through her window. “Ugh,” She grunts as she climbs out of bed, rubbing a hand over her face as she stumbles over to the window to close her curtains, “Why are these even _open_? I’ve decided, I’m nocturnal from now on. No sunshine, sunshine _bad_.”

Felicity rolls her eyes and leaves her friend to her dramatics as she crosses the hallway to the bathroom, splashing water onto her face before she grabs the toothbrush (it’s pink and glittery and it doesn’t fit with her current-style at all, and she’s like 83% sure that’s why Barbara bought it) that she keeps at the apartment. She goes through her morning routine and then she goes for comfort and pulls on [a pair of distressed jeans and a grey cashmere sweater. Her combat boots and her favorite forest green cardigan complete the look](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=209583373), and she decides to leave her hair in the messy bun because she knows nothing short of a _miracle_ will get the tangles out of her brunette locks.

Barbara’s already at the table, loading her plate with waffles and scrambled eggs, wearing a ridiculously [embellished miniskirt and a turtleneck sweater that matches her hair while she rests her feet, clad in black low top Chucks](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_barbara_gordon/set?id=195647897), on Felicity’s seat.

Felicity wastes no time pushing Barbara’s feet from her seat and then she’s collapsing into her chair, amusement etching into her features when she notices that Jamie’s practically asleep at the table with his face in his plate of scrambled eggs. She startles when a mug appears in front of her, and her heart _soars_ when the familiar scent of strong, Italian Roast coffee tickles her nose. “Oh God, coffee…” Felicity moans, reaching for the mug Sarah placed in front of her.

Sarah snorts as she moves to her own spot beside Jamie, reaching out to brush her hand over his unruly bedhead fondly before she takes a sip of her own coffee out of her usual yellow mug with its ridiculous smiley-face. “I have to go into the precinct again today, we caught a new case last night,” Sarah announces to the table, and it’s only then that Felicity realizes she’s wearing actual people clothes [(black boots, black stockings, and a tan-colored dress that ties around her trim waist)](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=212682704) instead of her usual Saturday attire of fuzzy slippers and pajamas.

“Not ‘til after breakfast,” Jim reminds as he walks over to the table, placing a kiss to his wife’s shoulder before he places a bowl of bacon on the table beside the bowl of scrambled eggs and the plate stacked with his famous homemade waffles. “Try not to drool on the food, Babs,” He teases when Barbara groans and immediately reaches for a piece of crispy bacon.

“Bite me, dad,” Barbara snarks, scrambled eggs dribbling out of her mouth when she talks with her mouth full, earning an amused snort from Sarah.

( _It warms Felicity’s heart to hear Barbara call Jim_ dad _._

_Barbara doesn’t do it all the time, never sure what to call the uncle that took her in and decided to raise her alongside Jamie, but it’s been happening more often over the past couple of months and it never fails to soften Jim’s expression._

_Jim Gordon is a soft, gushy marshmallow and Felicity won’t let anyone tell her differently._

_Sarah hasn’t quite managed to upgrade from_ Aunt Sar _to_ Mom _, but Felicity knows that has more to do with the love Barbara had for her birth mom than anything else. But Sarah understands, because from day one she vowed that she wasn’t trying to replace Thelma Gordon in Babs’ heart)_.

“Don’t make me ground you; I’m pretty sure the oven needs to be cleaned,” Jim tells Barbara, waving his finger in a mock-threatening manner before he takes his seat at the head of the table. His mouth curves into a smile when Barbara squawks in protest, and then the table falls silent as they hand the food around and he takes the waffles from Felicity before he says to Sarah, “Coffee doesn’t count as breakfast, hon.”

( _Jim always calls Sarah_ hon _._

_Sarah said it’s because, when they first got married, he used to say_ I love you, honey _every morning before they left for work. But, over the years, Jim’s shortened it to_ hon _._ Hon _is his way of saying_ I love you _without having to say the words and Felicity can’t help but wonder if she’ll ever have that kind of connection with someone_ ).

Sarah hikes an eyebrow and takes a deliberate sip of her coffee, smile wide when Jim sighs. “This coffee is the only reason I’m _awake_ right now, so unless you want me to ‘accidently’ trip and drop said coffee in your _lap_ , I’d keep your judgement to yourself.”

“You drop that coffee in my lap, don’t think I’m making you another one, hon,” Jim says with a grin as he carefully cuts off a piece of his waffle, eyebrow arched in challenge.

Jamie blinks bleary eyes at his mother before he looks at Jim, “You won’t like her when she’s sleep-deprived,” He warns in a fair approximation of the Hulk’s voice.

Felicity smiles, stabbing at a bite of scrambled eggs with her fork.

After breakfast Sarah heads off to the precinct (Sarah and Jim met at the GCPD, back when he was still married to his first wife, and they reconnected when she moved back to Gotham City and now Sarah’s a captain and works in Narcotics while Jim’s a sergeant that works in Homicide) while Jim spends the rest of the morning stretched out on the couch watching the highlights on TSN. Felicity and Barbara entertain Jamie with the new chemistry set he got for his birthday, and then they head off to the mall for a couple of hours in the afternoon while Jim takes Jamie to see a baseball game. Sarah picks up take-out on her way home from work and then Felicity stretches out on the couch and watches Jeopardy with Barbara and Jamie, a soft smile etched into her face when she hears the dishes clink as Jim and Sarah wash the dishes together, laughter in their voices as they tease each other.

A sort of calm washes over Felicity, but that ends when Barbara pushes herself to her feet and announces that the two of them will be in Barbara’s room. Felicity sighs and reaches over to ruffle Jamie’s hair before she follows Barbara. It’s the last thing she wants to do, but Felicity _promised_ they’d talk about Bruce.

Barbara drapes herself along the bottom of her bed like some long, luxurious cat and listens intently as they whole awful truth of it tumbles from Felicity’s mouth. Felicity babbles more than she has in her life (which is saying something because she’s, well, _her_ ) but the redhead doesn’t judge, just listens quietly, her brows furrowed in the middle of her forehead when Felicity reaches the Christmas-that-shall-not-be-mentioned.

Barbara blinks like she doesn’t understand, but then she asks, outraged, “He just _left_?”

Felicity nods and fiddles with the fringe on the pink decorative pillow she’s been holding since she started talking, avoiding her friend’s gaze. “He came home from the parole hearing and when he… he just… I don’t know. He came home and he wouldn’t even _talk_ to me. He stormed out in the middle of the night and drove himself to the airport and then… _nothing_.”

“Where’d he go?”

Felicity snorts because isn’t _that_ the question of the decade. “I don’t know,” She frowns, her brow furrowed in the middle of the forehead because she has no idea where Bruce went, it’s a mystery, and mysteries bug her and they need to be solved but she doesn’t want her brother to think she _cares enough to ask_. “It wasn’t like when he left before. He moved around a lot; geez, I don’t think he spent more than one semester in any of the universities attended, but he always kept in contact. He called, emailed, sent stupid care packages from the different countries he visited…” She glances at Barbara, cheeks close to the same shade of the pillow she’s holding. “Anyway, he left after the hearing and he didn’t do any of that. He didn’t call, he didn’t email, and I know Alfred and Louisa were worried that something had happened to him.” She snorts. “But it turns out he was perfectly _fine_ , he just couldn’t be bothered to _let us know_ and then he just… just showed up without warning and then he was there yesterday, telling me he missed me, asking if I wanted to go see a movie or -- or go get ice-cream because it was _Felicity Friday_ and we always, no matter what, spent every Friday together. He just _came back_ and acted like he _hadn’t abandoned me_ \-- abandoned _us_ for _three fuckin’ years_.”

Barbara’s staring at her, and Felicity stares down at the pattern on the comforter.

“Hey…”

Slowly, Felicity raises her eyes to look at Barbara.

“It sucks… this stuff with Bruce, it sucks.” Barbara says, reaching out to curl her hand around Felicity’s wrist in a comforting manner, mouth quirked up into a small smile. “But I’m on your side, Fee. You don’t have to forgive him if you don’t want to; hell, as far as I’m concerned you never have to see the asshat again. You’re always, _always_ welcomed here. You know that.”

Felicity glances away for a moment, but eventually she nods.

“It’s you and me ‘til the day we die, Felicity.” Barbara vows. “I _promise_.”

On Sunday, Alfred calls her ten times and leaves just as many messages, which Felicity ignores, and then he calls the apartment. “It’s a school night and the young miss doesn’t have her school uniform with her,” Alfred points out rationally and Felicity curses herself for not thinking to throw that in her dufflebag when she fled the mansion, “And Wayne Manor is too far away from the city for her to get it before school tomorrow.”

Felicity points out that Alfred could bring it to her tomorrow morning and then drive both her and Barbara to school, but then Alfred gives a long-suffering sigh and Felicity knows, even over the phone, that the old butler is pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “It’s time for you to come home, young miss,” Alfred insists. “You belong _here_.”

Felicity fiddles with her fingers, half-slumped in the passenger seat of Jim’s SUV, watching the city pass by outside the window as he drives them outside the city limits towards Wayne Manor. She’s prepared to see Bruce; she has her armor donned, wearing [purple skinny jeans that match the shade of her lips and a military jacket and Nirvana tank top](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicity_wayne_12/set?id=195647704).

“You’re being quiet,” Jim accuses from the driver’s seat, his usual half-smile strained as he tries to break up the tension. “I think this is the quietest you’ve even been since Babs brought you home.”

Felicity glances at him and then goes back to staring out the window, scowling, “You’d prefer a noisy chatterbox?”

Jim shakes his head, his brows hiked. "Hey, no, I'm not complaining about the quiet, all right?" He teases and despite herself Felicity feels her mouth curve into a smile. “I don’t get enough quiet living in that apartment with those crazies,” He says fondly, “I’m just stating facts. You’re being quiet, and you’re usually not.”

Uncomfortable silence hangs thick in the world until eventually, Felicity pushes herself up so she’s sitting straight in the seat, sighing. “I’m sorry you have to drive me all the way out to Wayne Manor on your day off,” She winces because it’s not like driving down the street to the nearest 7-Eleven for snacks and, because she sucks at self-editing, says, “It’s not like driving down the street to the nearest 7-Eleven for snacks.”

Jim turns onto the long, curved driveway that leads to the looming mansion that is Wayne Manor. “Listen, Felicity,” He says when he puts the vehicle in park, reaching out to stop her from hopping out. “It’s not a burden to have you at the apartment and… and I want you to know, if it becomes to much, if you want to come _home_ , you can call me,” He half-smiles at her.

Felicity’s mouth twitches, façade falling into place. “You don’t have to do that; I’m a big girl, Jim.”

“Not too big,” Jim refutes, his face expression softening like it does sometimes when he stares at Jamie and Barbara and realizes that his children are _growing up_. “But if you want me to come get you, you can call me day or night and _I’ll be there_ ,” He promises, not hesitation whatsoever. “I don’t care the reason, and I don’t care if it’s 2 AM. If you need me to come get you, you call.”

Felicity’s surprised by the burst of warmth in her chest and she stretches across the console to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” She murmurs, heartfelt.

 

* * *

 

Felicity exhales shakily as she walks into the mansion, closing the door behind her. It's quiet, which is the norm for the mansion, but it's such a stark contrast from the Gordon's apartment that's always bustling with noise and activity and life that it takes her a moment to find her balance. Alfred's probably curled up in the library playing chess or reading a book; Louisa's surely in the kitchen or out in the sun room watching cheesy Lifetime movies while _something_ bakes in the oven; and Bruce? Well, Felicity doesn't really care what Bruce is doing.

He's probably not even _home_.

Not that she views Wayne Manor as _home_.

Blue, blue eyes (eyes that _everyone_ insists she inherited from her mother, Martha) roll upwards in annoyance and she drops her dufflebag to the floor before she makes her way through the house until she reaches the kitchen. Felicity's eyebrows hike when she finds Bruce, looking so unlike the eccentric billionaire the tabloids accuse him of being, wearing a simple white t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants slung low on his hips, but she's so shocked to find him there that she stops in her tracks. He's still _here_ ; he hasn't _left_.

Bruce is searching through the cupboards for who-knows-what when the kettle starts to whistle and Felicity huffs, rolling her eyes as she walks across the kitchen to move the kettle to another burner. Her brother startles when the whistling stops, spinning on his heel, arm poised to attack, but it falls to his side as he face goes slack, eyes wide as he stares at her. "Felicity," He mumbles intelligently, blinking.

Felicity blinks, clearing her throat as she wipes her hands on the thighs of her purple skinny jeans, looking anywhere and everywhere except for Bruce's face. "Alfred still keeps the condensed milk on the top shelf over the stove," She says simply, gesturing with her chin, lips pursed when he furrows his brow at her before he walks over to the stove, mouth curving into an amused smile when the condensed milk is exactly where she said it would be.

"Hasn't he noticed you're tall enough to reach now?" Bruce asks, glancing at her over his shoulder.

Felicity realizes he's making hot chocolate as he moves to the middle of the island where he's placed the rest of the required ingredients, and a kaleidoscope of memories flash before her eyes as she remembers all the nights the two of them had sat around the island eating mint-chip ice-cream or drinking hot chocolate when Bruce's nightmares or Felicity's whirling mind kept them from sleep.

She clears her throat, and then says, "Old habits die hard, I guess."

Bruce's mouth curves into a small, hesitant smile as he looks up at Felicity. "Never used to stop us anyway," He shrugs, those same memories flashing before his eyes.

He remembers the nights Felicity has crawled into his bed, staring at him until he startled awake before the two of them made their way to Louisa's kitchen where he made them hot chocolate like their mother used to make for him. Then, when her eyelids were dropping, Bruce would carry Felicity back to her room where she would plead, blue eyes big and wide as she stared up at him, asking for _one more minute, Brucie_ or _one more chapter of our story, Brucie_ or _one more song, Brucie, then I'll go to sleep, I promise_.

"No," Felicity murmurs, "It didn't."

It's testing his luck, Bruce knows, but he can't help but ask her to join him as he reaches for a mug, his hand hovering over a second as he hesitates. "You want one?" It's not much, but if she accepts it's a start.

Her stomach twists itself into knots as she watches his hand hesitate over the purple mug, waiting for her response, and there's a part of her that wants to say yes, to sit with him and ask him where he's been these past few years and what she's missed in his life before telling him what he's missed in her life. The want practically claws at her chest with its yearning, but the vicious voice in her head that insists he's only going to leave again flares to life and her face twists into a sneer, "Hot chocolate?" She asks, lips pursed and head tilted. "Maybe if I were six and still taking bubble baths."

 

* * *

 

Felicity spends the next week avoiding Wayne Manor as much as she can. She's had a lot of practice over the past few years, spending more time out than at home because the quiet was too much for her to handle. Alfred and Louisa surely think she's avoiding Bruce, and they're  _right_ , but there's nothing out of the ordinary about her schedule so there's no way for them to  _prove it_. 

On Monday, Felicity sits through boring class after boring class and has her mandatory meeting with the guidance counselor on her free period, which starts off normal and centered around her hopes of attending MIT (she built her first computer when she was seven, and wires are wires, and she was _born_ to master the computer, she knows it) but then Ms. Cunning feels the need to bring up Bruce. "It must be difficult, having a brother so much older than you. I'm sure your relationship has always been an odd mix of an older brother and a father figure," _because your father was gunned down outside the opera,_ goes left unsaid but Felicity still hears it. "If there's anything you want to talk about, any shifting dynamic now that your brother's home, my door is always, _always_ open, Miss Wayne."

Felicity snorts, because like _that's_ going to happen, and then she's fleeing the office as quickly as she can and meeting Barbara at their usual spot in front of the school before they ride the bus over to the Gordon's apartment. Monday is the one day neither of them have an activity after school and they have a standing date where they walk to the used book store a few blocks away, hoping to find something new to read.

Felicity, having changed from her school uniform and into comfortable [black skinny jeans and a red plaid shirt, stands up from a crouch and her heeled leather boots](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=212691966) clunk against the old carpeted floor as she darts over to Barbara. "Hey, Babs, read this." She laughs, purple lips curved into a smirk as she pushes the book into her friend's hands, her smile widening when Barbara's eyes widen before she shudders in disgust as she reads because it's a smutty romance novel that Felicity _vividly_ remembers seeing on the coffee table at the Gordon's apartment. "Apparently Sarah likes the good stuff," Felicity teases.

Barbara's cheeks darken to the same color as her hair as she pushes the book away, fumbling when Felicity refuses to accept it, and then the book falls to the ground with a thunk that has the owner scowling over at the two of them. "Sorry," She mumbles under her breath, quiet as if she were in a library, kicking a chuckling Felicity with [a black flat clad foot before she crouches down to retrieve the book, mindful of the blue pleated skater dress she's wearing](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=195898893). "You're actually the worst," Barbara accuses, returning the book to a shelf before she readjusts her suede jacket.

Her friend laughs, her head thrown back in amusement. "It was worth it for the look on your face," Felicity says as explanation before walking towards the check-out with the couple of books she'd found tucked under her arm. Turning back towards Barbara, she adds, "Now hurry up and pick which book you want, Elmo. It's almost four o'clock and you  _know_ we won't get a table at Susie's if we don't beat the supper rush." Susie's Diner is down the street from the bookstore and they found it almost a year ago when they started their little tradition, and they have the best diner food  _ever_ and serve all-day breakfast which is an added bonus.

Barbara rolls her eyes, even as she bites her lip to keep from smiling because her best friend is _ridiculous_. "Okay, okay, we're going." Barbara assures as she walks up to the counter, and then the two of them pay for their books, placing them in Barbara's black bucket bag because Felicity _hates_ carrying a purse around with her. "You know," Barbara muses as they walk towards Susie's, "Even if the place is busy, I'm sure you could scream Wayne and a table would magically appear."

Felicity grins as she walks beside Barbara, leaning over to press up against her, arms wrapped around the redhead's shoulders. "And here I was, thinking you were friends with me because of my sparkling wit and charming personality." She clucks her tongue, jumping out of the way of Barbara's fists when her friend playfully takes a swing at her. "But, no. You're after my  _money_ , which isn't only heartrendingly tragic and predictable, it's a  _betrayal._ A betrayal, I tell you."

"Okay, hurry up, clearly your blood sugar is low because you're talking crazy," Barbara snickers, shaking her head in amusement.

On Tuesday, Felicity spends an hour in the auto shop with her head under the hood of a car that she's like, 83% certain the teacher is sabotaging on purpose just to see if she can fix it until she has her weekly meeting with the mathletes and then she takes the bus to the public library where she works on a group assignment (in reality they spend about two-hours getting work done and just as long bickering with each other because none of them can agree on _how_ to go about the damned thing) and she's so tired when Alfred picks her up that she stumbles up to her room and falls asleep without supper and without seeing Bruce.

On Wednesday, Felicity walks along the boardwalk with Barbara and Eddie. It's warm, especially for this time of year, and all she's [wearing is a grey jersey dress and a light denim jacket, her usual combat boots replaced with black cherry low top Chucks](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicty_wayne_14/set?id=212036063), and she's determined to soak up as much of the nice weather as she can. Amusement Mile will soon be closing for another season once the snow comes, and she insisted that the three of them meet up after school. Barbara and Eddie aren't friends, not really, not like Felicity and Barbara, but it's really important to Felicity that her two friends get along with each other even though she tries really, really hard not to think about why that is.

Barbara doesn't fight her when it comes to the rides this time (she's finally learned that there's no way she's going to win an argument when she's up against the Wayne Stubbornness, but the traitor had happily waited in line for food after _bullying_ Eddie and Felicity into riding the Ferris Wheel together) but she still loads up on candy and junk food before they buy ice-cream.

"Okay, Raymond, you win this one." Barbara relents as she points at Eddie with [a pink-painted finger, her blue floral skater dress swaying around her knees](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=195898301) as she licks her bubblegum ice-cream thoughtfully. "Frankie's has the best ice-cream in Gotham and I am deeply, honestly shamed that I didn't know about its existence before today," She says, dramatically, as she climbs up onto the railing of the boardwalk, kicking her suede combat books against the railing as she soaks up _surprisingly_ warm weather.

"As long as you've seen the error of your ways, Gordon." Eddie says magnanimously, his face etched into a wide smile that has butterflies fluttering in Felicity's stomach when he aims the smile at her, lifting his own hoof-prints cone up to his mouth (there's a stuffed lime green monkey with its velcro paws hanging from his neck, and they all know he'll end up giving it to Felicity before he heads home, but no one mentions it because _glaciers move faster than Felicity and Eddie_ ).

"Really, it's not your fault." He continues, "You didn't grow up in Gotham. You didn't know better; I just can't believe Lissy failed you so completely by not bringing you there sooner."

Felicity looks up from where she'd been enjoying her mint-chip cone, purple lips curved into a frown as she scowls at him. "Excuse you, I introduced her to the ice-cream parlor over on 5th which is _ten times_ better than Frankie's," She argues with a haughty tilt to her chin, preparing for the ensuing debate because she's pretty sure she and Eddie disagree on everything except how much they like each other.

"It's ten times more _expensive_ thank Frankie's. That doesn't make it better," Eddie scoffs, winking at Barbara. "Rich people," He mutters, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Shut up and eat your ice-cream, it's melting," Felicity tells him.

Eddie grins and leans over, licking a strip off of her cone before he dances away from her.

"Hey," Felicity scowls as she yanks her cone out of his reach, but all he does is laugh at her as he licks the mint-chip from his lips cheerfully _which so totally doesn't distract Felicity from her ire, she doesn't know why Barbara's laughing_. "Keep your hands off my ice-cream, buster," She warns, licking her ice cream.

Eddie slings an arm around her waist and pulls her closer, and they both pointedly ignore the way Barbara snorts into her ice-cream cone. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Sharing is caring, Wayne."

"Sharing? What's _that_?" Felicity laughs, helpless against her smile. "Us _rich people_ must not know what that is."

Eddie reaches out to ruffle her hair, causing her to squawk in outrage, "I say this with all the affection in the world, you're a _dork_ , Lissy."

"Thank you," Felicity nods seriously, purple lips curved into a smile and then she leans and takes a hearty bite off of his ice-cream cone, wincing at the brain freeze that immediately assaults her but it's so totally worth it for the look of pure outrage on Eddie's face. "You're right," She says around a mouthful of Eddie's ice-cream, "Frankie's ice-cream _is_ better."

On Thursday, Felicity's home, but no amount of coaxing from Louisa, Alfred, _or_ Bruce convinces her to join them for supper.

Friday, Felicity waits for Barbara on the bleachers inside the gymnasium. She hasn't changed out of her [school uniform yet and she has her feet crossed at the ankle, combat boots stretched out in front of her](http://www.polyvore.com/wtyl_felicity_wayne_13/set?id=195644708), as she reads over her notes for a quiz she has on Monday. She doesn't want to study over the weekend, so she spends the few hours Barbara's at cheer practice studying so she won't have to touch it no more until Sunday.

"Hey, loser," Barbara says eventually, walking over to the bleachers while the rest of the girls leave the gym, taking a sip from her [baby pink water bottle before she pulls a grey zip-hoodie on over her bright blue tank-top and black stretch leggings, her bright pink gym bag at her feet](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=212681394). "C'mon, I have to go home to shower, and then we're taking Jamie out for Chinese and a movie while dad and -- and _Aunt Sarah_ go out for their mandatory date night," Barbara says, and neither of them mention how she stumbled over what to call Sarah as Felicity climbs to her feet.

Following Barbara, Felicity cocks her head. "What movie does he want to see?"

"Some horrid sci-fi movie that I will loathe entirely and you will undoubtedly love because you, Felicity Wayne, are quite the science nerd when you want to be." Barbara teases as they walk out of the gym doors and make their way to the front of the school, both of their brows furrowing in confusion when they see the rest of the cheer-squad standing around gushing and gossiping about _something_. "What the heck are they staring at?" Barbara asks.

Felicity's eyes widen and she slows to a stop, because she sees what, or rather _who_ , they're staring at before one of the cheerleaders blurt out, " _Bruce Wayne is here_."

Barbara's head whips around and she looks around the gathered mob, rolling her eyes in annoyance when she sees Bruce leaning against the hood of the Rolls, arms crossed over his broad chest and sunglasses covering his eyes as he waits for Felicity. "Can't really take a hint, can he?" She asks, and then she tilts her head to the side as she moves to stand beside Felicity, lips pursed as she eyes the fancy car. "Want me to key his flashy, _obvious_ overcompensation?"

Felicity snorts at Barbara's serious question and she knows, without a doubt, that if she said yes her friend would key Bruce's car regardless of the scolding they would receive from Alfred _and_ Jim and Sarah. It causes a fierce kind of love wash over Felicity and it erases any doubt she has that, if she ever decides to burn the world to ash, that Barbara will be standing beside her holding the matches. "No, I got this," Felicity exhales shakily, because it's time for her to stop running and talk to Bruce. "No need to swoop in to save the damsel, hero."

Barbara's snorts. "As if you'd ever be a wilting flower, Fee. You have too many thorns for that," She teases, and then she reaches out to curl her hand around Felicity's wrist, her friend's steady pulse assuring her that she's okay and ready for this confrontation. "Although," She muses, "I'd look pretty bad ass in leather and a cape, huh?"

Felicity rolls her eyes and hikes her panda backpack further up her shoulder and makes her way over to Bruce, scowling, "What are you doing here?"

"It's Friday," Bruce shrugs as if that's all the answer she needs, and maybe it is, because it's Felicity Friday. He taps against the hood of the Rolls, gesturing towards the car with a jerk of his head. "Felicity Friday mandates that we go out to eat wherever you want, then we're going to hangout -- movie, laser tag, the _mall_ , I don't care -- and then we're going to get ice-cream and we're going to _talk_."

"Sounds fun," Felicity snarks, walking around the car to slide in the passenger seat.

 

**TBC.**


End file.
